


i want to fall in love with the stars in your eyes

by orphan_account



Category: The Vamps (UK Band), tradley - Fandom
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, pining!brad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which maybe brad having tristan only for the night is better than not having him at all</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want to fall in love with the stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> mini playlist;
> 
> 1\. tove lo - crave  
> 2\. marina and the diamonds - lies  
> 3\. foxes - better love  
>   
> title from "tonight you're perfect" by new politics

Brad didn't think a lot.

He didn't think how wrong it was for Tristan's hand to slide into his boxers when they sat on balconies of hotels; he didn't think how Tristan's girlfriend would feel whenever he straddled the taller boy to beds, moaning in his mouth and eagerly tugging off their belts; he didn't think how much more he deserved (how he should be in love with someone who wants to flaunt him to the world, with someone who wants to bring him to meet his parents) when Tristan's fingers were tangled in his curls, just like their sweaty bodies, as Brad wrapped his lips around his member, causing a noise from the blond's lips that sounded so dirty, but also so angelic crossing a mouth like Tristan's.

Realisation never hit him until it was too late. Until Tristan was sound asleep, his long legs interlaced with the curly-haired boy's, and his body smelling of cologne, sweat, and Brad. He could only stare at his still face, emotionlessly taking in his milky, bare chest visible from underneath the sheets. He looked so beautifully messy and the way his body was unconsciously intertwined with Brad's, it made him feel like Tristan was his. All his. As if when he woke up, he'd be met with shimmering blue eyes and an adorable sloppy grin, and not with an empty bed, the only memory of the night before coming from the sheets that were anything but neat and the lovely smell of Tristan.

Brad hated himself. He hated himself as Tristan carried him to the room and he hated himself as he flung the smaller boy's body onto the bed, already undoing his own trousers and chewing at the smirk on his lips. Brad hated himself even more as his jeans grew tighter, his adrenaline pumping, and his veins yearning for the touch of Tristan. He hated himself as Tristan crawled on top of him, palming him through the denim and he hated himself for wanting to kiss the smile on his face.

"You're perfect," Tristan whispered, his hot breath tickling his ear, and somehow Brad believed it. He was always perfect, but only for the night, only when the blond was touching him and sucking love bites into his sun-kissed skin, claiming Brad as his own. He wondered why he fell for this every time. He wished he could resist the feeling to be his, to feel loved for once.

Brad had to bite back an _I love you_ as Tristan kissed him, deeply. His lips were like fire and the brown-eyed boy was allowing himself to burn, running his greedy hands up the blond's shirt and freely dancing in the flames, tasting something sweet off Tristan's tongue, a taste that'd last on his own for eternity.

And fuck, Brad was really in too deep.

"Your g-girlfriend," the brown-eyed boy reminded him, gasping for air as Tristan ran a tongue down his stomach, leaving a stripe down to the waistline of his boxers. Brad easily kicked his jeans off, neglecting them on the carpeted floor.

"Shh, babe," Tristan said, his hand running up and down his chest. "It's just you and I for the night."

Brad hated himself for feeling special at the sound of those words. He hated himself for letting Tristan tug down his boxers and spread his legs. He hated himself as Tristan took him in his hand, and Brad impatiently bucked his hips into the older boy's palm, begging for more, and he hated himself for moaning so loudly as his length was slid into Tristan's mouth, his cheeks hollowing and his hands pressing down on his hips, pinning him to the bed.

He wondered how he tangled himself in this situation. He wondered how he allowed this to happen, how he settled for the second choice in Tristan's heart when the blue-eyed boy was always his first. Always. He didn't know how they ended up in the same position most nights, but Brad never learned his lesson. Those icy blue eyes always captured him. By one look, he was held captive and he just wanted to willingly throw himself at him. It was scary how much he loved him, how much control the blond had over him. Brad worried so much about losing himself, but when Tristan's hands ended up in his shirt or in his jeans and those perfect pink lips tugged into a smirk, the brown-eyed boy's dignity vanished, and he peeled off his clothing like it was nothing, freely giving himself away to someone who could only partially do the same.

Brad couldn't possibly think when he was in this position. His state of mind slipped away. All he could do was react. And with himself in Tristan's mouth, all he could manage to react with was a loud moan, his fingers tangling in the blond's hair and forcing his head down lower. He knew he'd regret this in the morning when Tristan leaves him, but he loved the feeling the blue-eyed boy gave him during these moments. Even if in the morning time, Brad wasn't perfect in his eyes anymore and his girlfriend was, and wow—Brad realised that he's a terrible person.

Their hungry lips were together again, Brad moaning into his mouth and wrapping his arms around his torso, ridding any sort of space in between their bodies.

"I want you," Brad voiced, his head falling back as Tristan pressed his lips to his throat. "I want you now."

A smile made its way on the older boy's lips, and then he was wiggling out of his boxers and neglecting them on the floor before Brad was pulling him in, whispering that _I love you_ in his ear as Tristan gave him exactly what he wanted.

. . .  
Mornings were the worst.

Brad would wake up alone, tousled curls, and a terrible, inexplicable feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach. He'd feel so stupid for easily falling into his arms again. Sometimes he wished he could realise how wrong all of this was before something just pulled them into each other, like a magnetic force. And other times he thought maybe this was enough. He thought maybe he'd rather have Tristan to himself for only the night instead of never having him at all. Those thoughts made him feel pathetic, because he knew he shouldn't settle for something as fucked up as this.

But that morning, Tristan was lying beside him, looking at him with something incomprehensible swimming in his eyes. Brad wasn't sure how to react to his presence. He'd never prepared himself for waking up to him, with him. He had become so used to fluttering his eyes open to an empty bed that he never thought there'd be a day where that spot next to him wouldn't be empty.

"Hi," Brad quietly greeted, like the night before never happened. But pretending came too easily after the first five times it'd happen. When he woke up to an empty bed, his mask was automatically slipped on. The mask that made it seem like Brad wasn't in love with Tristan, and that he was just his best mate. If anyone saw him on the outside, they'd never know how much it killed him to pretend that the night before Tristan wasn't inside of him.

The blond's eyes were distant, like if Brad touched him he'd disappear. "What are we doing?"

The brown-eyed boy froze at the question, the question that Brad had been asking himself since the first time they'd ended up in a hotel room, ripping off each other's clothes and biting at each other's lips. Brad remembered Tristan tearing his favourite flannel shirt open that day. He really missed wearing that flannel.

"What do you mean?" he asked, scanning the trashed carpeted floor for his boxers.

"This is wrong." Tristan pulled himself into a sitting position, the sheets sliding off his body, and Brad had to peel his eyes away, because if he looked any longer, the two boys would end up in the same place they were the night before. "We shouldn't be doing this so much."

Brad chewed the frown on his lips, preventing himself from screaming at him about how he surely wasn't saying that the night before. He wondered why Tristan had only thought of how wrong all of this was after it was too late, after they were in too deep. He wondered why Tristan kept coming back to Brad's hotel room if this little part of him knew he shouldn't. And then the brown-eyed boy realised he'd been doing the same thing.

But Tristan didn't love him. That was the one thing that made them different.

"We shouldn't be doing this at all," the younger boy muttered in response. His eyes darted over towards the distant boy, and then he quickly looked away, fixing his eyes on the bland walls and the lamp on the nightstand, anything that didn't make him think of Tristan, even though he was sat right beside him. But the blue-eyed boy never failed to seep into his mind. He was all he thought about, and Brad wondered if that were unhealthy.

"When you told me you love me," Tristan said, sheepishly fiddling with his fingers, "y'really meant that?"

The curly-haired boy didn't know what it'd cost him to admit the truth. He didn't know where to even start, he didn't know if it'd ruin what was left between them. There wasn't much to lose, but Brad didn't want to take the risk of there no longer being that little _something_.

"Don't do that," Brad warned.

The blond looked down at the curly-haired boy's hands, balling the white sheets into his fist. "Don't do what, Brad?"

"Don't ask questions you wouldn't want the answer to."

Tristan was too close to him, his eyes studying his face, and Brad just looked back, trying to figure him out, wondering what he thought of him. "I should probably just go," he decided, his voice low and unusual.

"Your girlfriend is most likely waiting for you, anyway," Brad muttered as he ran a shaky hand through his bedheaded curls. He didn't understand the look that flashed across Tristan's face, like the words had pained him. As far as Brad knew, the two were happy together, in love, Anastasia was the girl Tristan brought home to introduce to his parents and flaunted to the world. And the brown-eyed boy was only the one he ran to when Anastasia wasn't there to give him what he wanted. Brad wasn't stupid. He was aware every single touch, every single kiss was meaningless in Tristan's eyes.

The older boy leaned in, pressing a gentle peck to Brad's cheek, reddened with anger. Brad tried fixing his eyes on the wall as the blue-eyed boy pulled on his wrinkled clothing and made his way to the door. But something in the curly-haired boy came to its senses, and then Tristan's name was leaving his lips, causing the blond to abruptly stop his movements, like he'd been waiting for this moment.

"Yeah?" he asked, his long fingers tightening around the doorknob.

Brad paused. There weren't a planned list of words to follow. The curly-haired boy didn't know where to begin and where to finish, and he kept thinking of the band, kept thinking of how badly all of this would end whether he confessed his feelings or not, but him admitting his love would only cause a larger impact to the shitty ending—a more serious impact that'd leave too much damage for anyone to clean.

"Never mind," the brown-eyed boy decided, followed by an awkward nod from Tristan before the tall boy was slipping out the door, like nothing between them had ever happened. And Brad was left alone in the room again, just like how he's used to, with silence and sadness suffocating him, (and wrinkled sheets that smelled of Tristan.)

**Author's Note:**

> written by [itsbunny](https://www.wattpad.com/user/itsbunny) on wattpad!


End file.
